Temptation
by FoxFireside
Summary: Moments when Jack and Phryne find themselves playing voyeur: watching, wanting, waiting. Now with an emerging plot.
1. Chapter 1

A short fic written based on an admiration of Jack and an interest in putting him in a situation where he's not perfectly dressed.

Just for fun.

* * *

She pauses inside the doorway, half hidden by a punching bag, to watch him.

His muscles bunch and stretch under the weight he lifts. A sheen of sweat coats his skin and slicks back his hair. Stripped down to trousers and a white cotton singlet, every line of his hard body is visible to her eyes.

Lying on the leather bench in the Policemen's Union Clubhouse gymnasium, Jack continues to raise and lower the barbell, unaware that Phryne is watching his every move. The muscles of his arms, usually hidden beneath the proper layers of shirt and suit, catch her attention before her gaze drifts down to his torso. Jack is slim but strong – the wiry muscle of a man who really works for a living.

Phryne darts back into the shadows behind the punching bag as Jack sets the barbell back on its stand and sits up. Apparently he is still unaware that he is no longer alone, because he takes a moment to stretch (_his braces are hanging loose from his trousers and the hem of his singlet untucks from his waistband on one side, revealing a sliver of skin to Phryne's view_) before taking up position on the floor and beginning a set of sit ups.

Phryne peers around the gymnasium's equipment and bites her lip at the sight that greets her. Slipping between a pair of pommel horses, she sneaks closer to the object of her perusal. A shiver runs through her body as she considers the power of Jack's body and the way he moves with such clear purpose and control.

She had not come here with the intention of spying on the Inspector – far from it. Hugh had visited Dot earlier in the day and had admitted, under Phryne's careful questioning, that his superior had spent the last few evenings at the Clubhouse after hours before returning to the Station to work late into the night. Concerned, Phryne had resolved to seek the Inspector out - armed with a basket of his favourite sandwiches, a thermos of tea and a flask of something stronger - and discover the reason for his new routine. Gaining entry to the closed Clubhouse had been the work of a few minutes with a set of picks and she had followed the interior lights in the hope of finding Jack.

But all her plans had been forgotten the moment she saw a sweat-sheened half-dressed Inspector Robinson alone in the basement gymnasium. Phryne was no stranger to good looking men, but to see the usually staid and reserved Inspector relaxed and…available…like this was more than a little arousing.

Taking a step closer, Phryne freezes when Jack abruptly stops his sit ups. She watches his profile, letting out the breath she is holding only when he turns and rests on his palms and toes. When Jack starts raising and lowering his body in perfectly controlled push ups, Phryne gasps silently at the way her body responds to the visual.

This is getting ridiculous.

She has just about made up her mind to step forward and announce her presence when Jack sighs and sits back on his haunches. Smoothly he rises to his feet and walks towards the shower room, tugging off his singlet and unbuttoning his trousers as he goes.

That's it. The temptation is too much to bear, so Phryne slowly retraces her steps out of the gymnasium as the sound of the shower running fills her ears.

When Jack emerges clean and fully dressed fifteen minutes later, he finds Phryne sitting primly on a bench in the upstairs hallway, a picnic basket on her lap.

"Miss Fisher! What are you doing here?"

"Hugh stopped by and mentioned that you might be here. I was concerned. You haven't been by for dinner or a nightcap for over a week."

Jack sits down beside her. "I wasn't sure if I was welcome when we're not on a case together."

She shoots him a glance that says he's being ridiculous. "You're always welcome. Always. But just in case you weren't in the mood for dinner at an actual table, I brought you something." She pulls back the corner of the cloth covering the basket and Jack smiles to see the meal thoughtfully prepared by Dot.

"Perhaps you'll join me for a picnic in the tuckshop?" Jack's smile is warm as he stands and holds out his hand to help her up.

Phryne accepts his offer with a grin and lets Jack lead her through the building, her arm looped with his.

Temptations can wait for another day.

* * *

Author's Note: For those of you not in the UK/NZ/parts of Australia and the rest of the Commonwealth, a tuckshop is a place where food, drinks and snacks are sold at a club or school. The word is related to 'tucker' (meaning "food"). Some club tuckshops have tables and bench seats nearby for customers to sit.


	2. Chapter 2

_A short, sweet chapter from Jack's POV. The next chapter will feature Phryne watching Jack and him knowing it (and playing up to the fact)._

* * *

He should probably announce himself rather than continue standing in the shadows. But this is a rare opportunity and somehow he cannot bear to bring it to an end.

Having been directed into the back garden by Mr Butler, Jack had let himself into the yard and wandered past the rose garden and the agapanthus, searching for a certain shock of dark hair and pale skin.

He had found her beside a clump of gardenia bushes, her nose buried in a waxy white bloom. With her face shaded by a white straw hat and her fingers protected by lambskin gloves, Phryne was wandering between the blooms – deadheading here; taking a cutting for the dining table there - utterly unaware that Inspector Robinson was watching her from the shade of a nearby rhododendron.

The morning sunlight falling on Phryne's hat makes patterns of light on her face through the straw. From where Jack stands watching, he can see the profile of her face as she closes her eyes and inhales the perfume of a perfectly formed flower. A sweet smile pulls at the corners of her mouth and Jack smiles to see it.

_This _is the Phryne Fisher so few get to see. Not the vivacious hostess or the seductive flirt; without the mask of the bubbly troublemaker or the determined sleuth. For now, Phryne Fisher is under no pressure to perform for others. At this moment, she is simply a woman enjoying a beautiful morning in a sunny garden.

When Phryne leans over to pluck at a dead bloom, Jack sucks in a breath at the sight of the pale skin that presents itself to his gaze. A smooth strip of skin between the waist of her trousers and the hem of her top is exposed as her blouse rides up with her movement. Unbidden, a vision of himself sliding a palm across that warm, soft skin fills Jack's mind. The waistband of Phryne's crepe trousers is lose and it would take Jack no effort at all to dip his fingers beneath to touch the top of the swell of Phryne's buttocks.

_He shouldn't be doing this. He should step forward right now…clear his throat…avert his gaze…_

Phryne lets her fingers ruffle petals and leaves as she moves to a clump of gerberas that have taken hold near the back wall. There is a faint smile on her face as she kneels to press her fingers against the soil and brush her cheek against the blooms as she studies the colours as a bee floats unnoticed nearby.

The complete lack of guile behind her actions makes Jack smile. It is one thing to be granted a glimpse of Phryne's bare body when she is playing a part for a case. It is quite another to be able to see her move with the grace and naivety of a woman who believes herself to be alone. Every smile, every tilt of her head is for no-one but herself.

When she brushes sweat from her face with the back of one hand, a streak of dark soil leaves its mark across her pale skin. In the heat of the garden, Phryne's white georgette blouse has begun to cling with to the skin of her breasts and back and she looks for a moment like a Grecian statue of a goddess long forgotten but still awe-inspiring. The soil across her cheek and under her fingernails lends an air of human fragility to her form and Jack reflects that he has never seen her look more at ease.

The paperwork he came to discuss can wait: he would not interrupt this moment for the world.

Turning silently, Jack leaves via the garden gate, a sense of peace smoothing the habitual worries of his day.


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay: just imagine Jack in old trousers and a white Chesty Bonds singlet – motor oil smeared across his muscles and clothes; hair breaking free from its usual neat combing; unshaven for a day or two; voice gravelly and accent rougher than usual; swaggering around a garage with a wrench in one hand. How could I resist playing with such an image?_

* * *

Jack is undercover when Phryne tracks him down at Daniels' Garage the following week. He manages not to show his surprise when her red Hispano-Suiza rolls into the garage and the woman herself climbs out of the car, blue silk scarf trailing behind her.

"Can I help you, Miss?" Jack takes note of the way Phryne's pupils dilate when she hears the rougher accent he's using – the way lust clouds her eyes when she takes in his grease-streaked bare arms and unshaven jaw. Having grown up helping an uncle who was fanatical about motor vehicles, Jack has the skills and the lingo to fit in here – hence why he, not another police officer, has taken on the undercover role of mechanic in an effort to find out about a black market operation that's claimed several victims over recent months.

But as Jack waits, amused, Phryne quickly shakes herself back into the role of helpless female, fluttering her lashes in false naivety. "There's a rattle in my engine. I'm hoping you can help."

Jack stamps down on a desire to roll his eyes, instead pulling a cigarette from his pocket and clamping it, unlit, in the corner of his mouth. "Does she rattle just when the engine starts, or all the time?"

Phryne's tongue flicks out to wet her lips before she replies in a lower voice, "Lately, it's been a problem all the time."

Jack makes a show of propping open the folding bonnet and leaning over the engine block, the cheap fabric of his trousers outlining the muscles of his legs as he moves. Ignoring Phryne, he checks for loose components and broken fan blades, knowing full well that he is unlikely to find a genuine problem with the fastidiously maintained vehicle. Nonetheless, he amuses himself by taking longer than he really needs to in order to check under the bonnet – egged on by a heat low in his stomach at the knowledge that Phryne is watching him with lustful eyes.

Eventually, he turns around and leans back against the car, arms crossed over his chest. "Can't see anything wrong, Miss. Are you sure it was the engine making the noise?"

Phryne's lips quirk as she eyes Jack's biceps. "Maybe it was the undercarriage. I'm not very good with mechanical things. Embroidery is more my speed." Her eyes are challenging as she tells the outrageous lie and there is a more than a hint of a smile on Phryne's face when Jack smirks and reaches for a tool box of socket wrenches.

"I'll have a look at the undercarriage, Miss, in case there's something loose underneath. You never know what could be knocked about with these rough roads."

"Oh, thank you so much," Phryne flutters, watching appreciatively as Jack wiggles beneath the car. Phryne tilts her head to admire what she could see of the Detective Inspector, uncaring if the other garage workers see her staring. Inspector Robinson is lean, muscular and filthy dirty – and Phryne feels a rush of wetness at the apex of her thighs at the thought of him tugging her against him…pushing her forcefully against the door of the car…pulling her leg up to wrap around his waist so he could grind against her body as the smell of machine oil and the feel of hard muscles fill her senses…

When Jack stands back up a few minutes later, he pulls a dirty rag from his back pocket to wipe oil from his hands and tucks the unlit cigarette behind his ear as he leans a hip casually against the Hispano. Tilting his chin up, Jack slowly runs the rag down his throat and across the nape of his neck, his eyes fixed on Phryne's face the entire time. When Jack steps daringly forward until is was toe to toe with Phryne and slowly reaches past her to drop the rag on a workbench, Phryne's soft gasp of arousal tells him that he isn't the only one affected by this little roleplay.

With a voice rough and strong like gravel and whiskey, Jack meets Phryne's gaze from just inches away and speaks. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the car. But if you have any other problems you think I can help with, I'm at your service…_Miss_."

Hoisting the heavy tool box with ease, Jack nods a cheeky goodbye and disappears into the back room of the garage, Phryne's appreciative scrutiny burning into his back the entire way.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Check out Firebird9's glorious fic "_Caught in the Act_" for more "Phryne and Jack undercover" - Firebird9 did it first and did it best! :)

I also have her to thank for reading over this chapter as I completed it and giving me some incredibly kind words of support.

Lovely readers, are you still enjoying this story? Or has it fallen out of favour?

Don't forget that we might never have a new episode of Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries ever again if we don't all make the effort to tell the ABC how much we love the show. **Contact the Australian Broadcasting Corporation via twitter, email or website!**

* * *

The black market murders case is no further forward four days later, so Jack is still in his mechanic's clothes when he knocks at Phryne's front door at six o'clock in the evening.

Mr Butler has to look twice at the man on the doorstep before he realises that the scruffy visitor is actually Inspector Robinson. Ushered inside, Jack hangs his hat in the hall and enters the familiar parlour in search of Miss Fisher.

He finds her standing by the bookshelf, a linen-bound book open in her hands.

"Miss Fisher," he draws her attention, gratified by the way her eyes widen in surprise and barely disguised want when she sees him standing near the doorway.

"Jack! Does this visit mean your case is solved?"

Jack winces. "Not quite. That's actually why I'm here. I have a favour to ask you."

Phryne's face lights up as she puts the book aside and approaches. "Oh?"

Jack doesn't want to sit on Phryne's furniture when he's covered in dirt, so he stays awkwardly standing as he succinctly outlines the problem: the garage co-worker Jack is targeting has invited Jack to a drinking and gambling session at a working men's club tonight – the same club that Jack believes is being used as a waypoint for the black market deals that have seen three men killed. Tonight's invitation is the best chance Jack has had so far to dig further into the illegal business behind the deaths – but there's a problem.

"Part of my cover is that I'm married, because the man I'm investigating is married and it provides an opening for conversation about hobbies and home life." Jack explains.

Phryne smiles in understanding. "So you need a wife for the night."

Jack nods, relieved Phryne isn't making a bigger deal of it. "Nobody but me saw your visit to the garage the other day. And George – that's the smuggler and suspected killer – made a point of wanting to meet my wife tonight. I'm not sure if he's just curious, or if he's suspicious of my background story, but I'd rather not risk it."

Phryne bites her lip, already planning for the night ahead. "What's she like, this wife of yours?"

Jack smiles, his voice teasing. "A pain in my side, most of the time. Name of Vera. She used to work as a moll and still does, sometimes, when I'm between jobs. We have a volatile relationship. George Walker is a violent man and he respects 'Jack Rivers' as a man who keeps his wife _in her place_." Jack pauses with a frown, uncomfortable with the idea of being seen as a man who would assault a woman – especially one he claims to love.

Phryne regains his attention with a soft but confident voice. "I think I can work with that. Where did Jack and Vera meet?"

The challenge returns to Jack's eye as he meets Phryne's gaze head-on: "Jack was a customer. Vera wanted a means of protection against other punters. Jack wanted a steady lover who'd be at his beck and call. Somewhere along the way, they fell in love." If Jack's breathing hitches a little as he reveals this about the characters he and Phryne are going to play out tonight, Phryne doesn't make mention of it.

Jack leaves fifteen minutes later, having arranged to meet Phryne at the tram stop in a few hours' time.

)(

The dark-haired woman who steps off the tram to greet Jack at eight fifteen that night looks nothing like the sleekly stylish society lady of earlier that evening. Phryne has made careful use of cosmetics and clothing to transform herself into a sexually permissive working class tart. Her clothing is tastelessly revealing at the neckline and hem, her hair greasy and her skin over powdered. When she threads her arm through Jack's own with a giggle, Phryne presses up against him with the flagrant sexuality of a woman who is used to being paid for her attentions.

"'Ello, husband," she whispered, amused at Jack's flabbergasted look. But once he has a moment to get over the shock of Phryne's transformation, he is able to admire just how perfectly she has slipped into the role of 'Vera'. She looks up at Jack in a loving but slightly frightened way and she flaunts her body like a street-born slag who hasn't let marriage slow her down. When Phryne leans in to rest her head on Jack's shoulder, he realises that she has dosed herself liberally with the scent of cheap gin and low quality, cloyingly floral perfume.

"You've outdone yourself, Miss Fisher," Jack whispers in her ear, impressed by her commitment to helping him sell his cover story. Tonight is important for the investigation – if George Walker suspects that Jack is not who he says he is, the police might never uncover the evidence needed to put away a murderer.

"I do love it when you say sweet things to me, Jacky," Phryne drawls, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

Jack favours her with a smile and guides her down the road towards the Western Suburbs Working Men's Club.

When they enter the warm, smoky clubrooms, Jack is immediately welcomed with slaps on the back and a schooner of beer. He is relieved by the enthusiastic welcome and hopeful that tonight will lead to a breakthrough in the case.

"An' who's this little lovely?" George Walker asks. A large, powerfully built man, he eyes Phryne with undisguised lust.

"This's Vera, me wife. Say 'ello, Vera."

Phryne smiles coyly and flutters a hello to Jack's 'workmates', taking note of those who look particularly dangerous. Sticking close to Jack as he leans against the bar and jokes with the other workers, Phryne hides her careful perusal of the club's occupants behind a mask of promiscuity. Judging by the lascivious glances that several men send her way, the story Jack has previously spread about his wife being a part-time prostitute has found plenty of interested ears amongst the mechanics and other workers who frequent this club.

When George leads Jack to a table in the corner, Phryne follows: surprising Jack by sitting on his lap and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jack is forced to wrap his own arm around Phryne's waist to steady her and he casts a quick eye roll at her that has Phryne fighting back laughter.

At first, George Walker seems to have no agenda other than getting his new mate as drunk as possible. Only Phryne notices that Jack takes care to spill as much of his drinks as possible in an attempt to avoid becoming drunk. But George shouts round after round – beer, cheap whiskey, rum – and Jack is forced to keep downing the drinks to maintain his cover as a hard-drinking working man. As the club becomes busier and noisier, Jack takes a moment to lean into Phryne and whisper in her ear under cover of kissing her neck.

"I'm sorry, Phryne, but I'm going to have to rely on you. Keep an eye on me, please?" When he pulls back a little, Phryne catches his eye and nods minutely, understanding Jack's plea as a fear of losing control as the alcohol floods his system.

The night continues in much the same vein, with other men soon joining the table to share wild stories and raucous jokes. Phryne melts into the background as much as possible while still playing the role of dutiful wife. Sitting on Jack's lap, she feels the way his body gradually slackens beneath her: his arm around her waist heavier, his laughter louder, his other hand on Phryne's knee creeping higher.

The first time Jack's lips press against Phryne's neck, she has to stop herself from squealing in surprise. When his teeth close on her earlobe, she pushes him away.

"Watch your teeth, Jack. I'm not a bloody steak." She grouses at him, frowning.

"Bloody cheap steak if you were," he shoots back, jabbing a finger into Phryne's ribs to make her wiggle. "I could get a damn good night out with a girl from the docks for the amount of money I spend on your bloody clothes and shoes every month."

"Yeah, and a case of syphilis for your trouble," Phryne retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, what other woman would put up with your drinking and snoring?"

"I do not snore!" Jack laughs, suddenly amused and very aware that it is this quick wit and repartee he has with Phryne that makes working with her such a pleasure, even in circumstances such as this.

Gently this time, Jack leans in again and takes the liberty of sucking a gentle mark against her neck. She shivers against him and Jack has to remind his body that this is all just an act to convince the other men that he and Phryne really are husband and wife as Jack has claimed.

Phryne sips at her glass of gin and lets her fingers run soothingly through Jack's hair as he converses with the rough men seated around the table. The feeling of the silky strands slipping between her fingers help Phryne relax into the situation, despite the strangeness of acting so intimately with Jack when in reality they have only just begun to allow themselves to reveal how they feel for each other.

Looking around the table, Phryne becomes aware of George Walker's eyes on her. Despite the free-flowing drink, the man's gaze is sharp and searching as he watches Phryne and Jack, almost as if he is waiting to see if the drunkenness creeping over Jack will reveal that he is not who he says he is. A cold fear deep in her stomach drives Phryne to turn her body slightly so she can press up tighter against Jack's chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispers against his lips as she leans in and draws Jack into a desperate kiss. She can hear the other men at the table break out in cat calls as Phryne swings her leg around so she is straddling Jack. Whether due to the alcohol or shock, he is initially slow to respond, but when Phryne breaks the kiss to fix Jack with a meaningful look, Jack enters into the role play with breathtaking vigour.

Phryne gasps as Jack's tongue enters her mouth and his hands grasp her lower back to pull her closer. Phryne's mind goes blank for a moment as the sensations overwhelm her and she is panting when Jack finally pulls away.

"Sorry, fellas, we get a bit carried away. Bloody firecracker, this one," Jack winks, cover identity firmly in place even as his hand squeezes Phryne's hip in apology.

Fixing a flirty smile on her face, Phryne moves on Jack's lap enough to pout at George. "Jack's been working so hard lately I've hardly seen 'im. Are you his boss, Mr Walker?"

Walker's suspicions seem to have been quashed by Phryne and Jack's little show and he leers at Phryne. "Not at the garage I'm not, sweet thing, but I reckon I might have a side job for your Jack, if he's interested in making a bit of extra money."

Phryne feels Jack's hand tighten on her hip. This is tonight's first step forward in the case and it is essential not to spook Walker now.

"I dunno, Mr Walker. Money'd be nice, but I don't want Jack getting' in trouble with the law again."

In a sudden burst of believable anger, Jack turns on Phryne. "Shut your mouth, Vera. If George's got a job for me, I'm interested. Keep out of it." Jack's sharp words fit perfectly with his character – a man who doesn't hesitate to throw his weight about when it comes to his wife. But beneath his hard words is a soft look of apology for the way he is having to treat her.

Phryne accepts Jack's unspoken apology with a flicker of her lashes.

It seems Jack was right about George Walker respecting men who are as rough with their wives as he himself tends to be, because George is now regarding Jack with a new level of admiration.

"It's a bit public in here to be discussing business," George says carefully, eyeing Jack and Phryne as if making up his mind about something. Evidently he comes to a decision because with a dangerous smile, George Walker stands and jerks his head towards the door to the back office.

"Shall we?"


	5. Chapter 5

Firebird9 helped with this chapter not only by reading the start and offering advice, but by providing some snippets of dialogue. Many thanks!

Are you still reading, darlings? Or has this fic taken an unwelcome turn? I would never hold a fic "ransom", but it's disheartening to think that a story is not being enjoyed.

Anyhoo - I hope you all DO enjoy this chapter. Thank you to those who've had the chance to review along the way :)

* * *

Phryne has to help Jack to his feet, though she suspects he is nowhere near as drunk as he is acting. The way he stumbles and slurs a little might be for George Walker's benefit, but the warm arm slung over Phryne's shoulders feels like it is just for her.

Jack readily agrees to follow Walker into the office to discuss the 'business opportunity'. For a moment as Walker gets ahead of them, Jack takes the opportunity to stumble purposefully against Phryne's side so he can speak to her privately. "Keep your wits about you. We may think Walker is convinced by our charade, but I don't want to be caught unawares if he suddenly changes his tune." Despite the reasonableness of his warning, Jack's words run into each other more than Phryne expected and she realises that the alcohol he has downed is fast catching up with him.

Phryne hums her agreement, glad she has her pistol tucked into the garter around her left thigh. She half supports Jack as they enter the crowded office and sit on a battered armchair across a desk from Walker.

Walker has transformed into a friendly host as he plies Jack and Phryne with half-decent whiskey and magnanimously invites Jack into the smuggling ring that Walker is running. Jack is careful to react with just the right mix of interest and reserve, while Phryne acts cowed by Jack's recent turn of anger. Walker seems impressed by Jack and when Phryne and Jack leave the club an hour later, Jack has a solid lead into how the smuggling ring is involved in the recent deaths.

By now Phryne is pleasantly tipsy and Jack has become a very jovial drunk. He leans heavily on Phryne as they stagger up the street.

"M'lovely wife," Jack slurs as Phryne tries to keep them more or less on course.

Phryne smirks and rolls her eyes. "You're bloody lucky you did tell them I was your wife and not your floozy, or I'd leave you in the gutter to sleep it off, Jack Robinson."

"'M not drunk," he protests, his nose bumping up against Phryne's cheek as he presses closer and attempts to sniff her hair. His arm over her shoulder is heavy and warm as the chill of the night air cuts through her short, thin dress.

"Of course not. You always slur your words and trip over your own feet," Phryne snorts disbelievingly.

But Jack ignores her and smiles. "M'lovely, lovely wife. Y're better than a steak any day, you are."

Suppressing a laugh, Phryne shakes her head. "Jack, you're drunk. Maybe you should stop talking before you say something you regret."

Jack's voice is low and earnest when he replies. "Something like 'I want you'? C'm home with me. I'll be a good husband, I swear. As many shoes as you want! An' I'll turn a blind eye when you break in to crime scenes."

"Jack, let's just get you home."

He is quieter now, smiling at Phryne and letting himself be half-carried home. "Yes. Let's go home."

)()(

When they reach Jack's front door there's a moment of awkward shuffling as Phryne props Jack against the door and digs in his pockets for his house keys. Her fingers fumble when he shifts his hips towards her, but the keys are retrieved and the door unlocked without incident.

"Come on, drunky, in we go," she teases, pushing and tugging Jack until he is through the door and into the hall.

At Phryne's suggestion, Jack leads her willingly to his bedroom. Even through the fog of alcohol, Phryne feels a pang of sadness at the austere loneliness of the room, but then Jack is kissing the back of her neck and Phryne's attention is well and truly hijacked.

"Jack, stop, it's time for bed." She cajoles, pushing Jack's shoulders until he drops to sit on the mattress. Slightly unsteadily, Phryne kneels to remove Jack's shoes and socks, ignoring the complexities of shoe laces in favour of simply tugging the shoes off and throwing them over her shoulder. As she braces herself on Jack's knees in order to stand, he whispers her name.

"Yes, Jack?" Phryne's voice is unsteady as she wobbles to her feet and pulls Jack's tie from his collar.

His voice is gentle as he tilts his head to allow her access to his throat. "Did I ever tell you how pretty you are? Like…pretty shiny things. Beads. Shiny like beads."

Amused, Phryne drops the tie and undoes the top buttons of Jack's shirt. "That almost sounds like a compliment, Jack Robinson."

Fascinated by Phryne's face, Jack frowns. "Should say it more often. Beautiful Phryne."

Blushing now, Phryne decides Jack is undressed enough to sleep somewhat comfortably. Her own woozy head is making it harder and harder to think straight as she bullies Jack under the bedcovers. But when she leans over to tuck the blankets around him, Jack's hands grasp her wrists with sudden intention, pulling her down to kneel half atop of him.

"Sleep with me," he beseeches.

Phryne shakes her head, ignoring the way Jack's words wring her heart so that she might almost cry. "Jack, you're not thinking clearly."

He frowns at that, looking a lot more like the Jack she's used to. "'M thinking more clearly than I ever have before," he says emphatically, running his hands up Phryne's arms to tug on her shoulders. "Stay with me. Let me…let me love you. I want you…God, how much I want you. Like a…a fire burning inside me."

"Jack, no, not like this," Phryne hears herself say, pulling away from the fingers that are trailing down her throat and dipping beneath her neckline.

A hand comes up to gently cup her face. "'M tired of bein' alone," he admits softly.

And that is all it takes: all the fight goes out of Phryne. She's too drunk, too tired, too invested in her love for this man to force herself to walk out the door. So she kicks off her shoes, lays her gun on the bedside table and crawls into bed beside Jack.

"Just to sleep," she warns as she settles against his warmth. Jack curls up against her, face to face, his eyes flicking across her features as he strokes her hair. To Phryne's amusement, a drunken Jack is remarkably handsy. His fingers slide over her neck to play with the earrings hanging from her earlobes, then travel lower to caress her hip before returning to her face to trace the lines of her cheekbones and nose. He even leans closer to bury his nose in her hair, smelling the dark strands as Phryne relaxes in his arms. Despite Jack's earlier words, there is little sexual about his actions. His gentle touches and fleeting caresses are those of a man starved of intimacy and affection. Sorrow floods her for a moment at the thought of all the loneliness and solitude Jack must have had to endure over recent years. But she is part of his life now and she has no intention of standing aside while he kills himself with too much work and not enough living.

It doesn't take long for Jack to drift into sleep, his arms wrapped protectively around Phryne.

In the faint glow of the bedside lamp, Phryne allows herself to smile.

)()(

Jack feels faintly seasick when he slowly wakes the next morning. There's an unfamiliar but very welcome warm weight wrapped around him and he presses closer gratefully. Jack is vaguely aware that he's in his own bed but he's too hungover and too tired to worry about how he got there.

Within moments, he is asleep again.

)()(

The sun is shining through the open curtains when he wakes again. His face is pressed against a mass of silky hair and there's a slim leg insinuated between his thighs.

It has been so long since he last shared a bed with anyone that it takes Jack a moment to realise what's going on. With a groan, he forces his eyes open and tries to focus.

He's not naked. _That's good._

The woman in his arms isn't naked either. _Even better._

But her dress has rucked up and shifted in the night and Jack groans again, this time at the sight of so much creamy skin laid out in front of him.

Phryne Fisher is pressed against the front of his body, her arms wrapped around Jack's waist and her nose buried against his throat. Looking down at her, Jack reminds himself that this – his tendency to let his mouth run wild and get him in all sorts of trouble – is why he rarely drinks to excess.

But there is a memory somewhere that lets him know that Phryne stayed with him last night out of kindness and Jack feel pathetically grateful for the simple human comfort of not waking up alone.

Shifting a little as his head aches and his stomach churns, Jack stares at the top of Phryne's head and tries to remember last night.

"_Shiny like beads" _Jack's brain helpfully supplies. Oh God. He didn't really say that to her, did he? And surely he's just imagining telling her he'd make a good husband.

"_Ha! That's what you get for pickling me in alcohol"_ his brain trumpets and Jack squeezes his eyes shut as snippets of the previous night come floating back.

He'd embarrassed himself last night. Rattling on about her beauty and calling her his wife. God – he even told her that he wanted to bed her! And the other admissions he'd made – things he rarely even admitted to himself, about the way his lonely lifestyle ate at him, and the way his lust for life and desires for companionship and love have been reignited by Phryne Fisher after the War had killed them stone dead.

More than anything, the returning memory that strikes shame into Jack's stomach in the light of day is his recollection of Phryne's decorum and restraint in turning down his heartfelt, clumsy advances.

How will he face her?

As if Jack doesn't have enough to contend with, with a slight shift he suddenly becomes aware of the mortifying reaction of his body to the nearness of a beautiful woman. As much as Jack might tell himself that it is a perfectly normal reaction, his face flames as his body shows its interest where his hips are pressed against Phryne's stomach.

With typical timing, it is at this moment that Phryne begins to stir in Jack's arms.

Jack freezes, his eyes wide as Phryne stretches within the circle of Jack's arms.

"G'morning," she mutters, voice cloudy with sleep. Jack's heart clenches with emotion to see Phryne looking up at him, her hair messed from sleep and a soft smile brightening her face.

Holding his body still and hoping Phryne will not notice his intimate interest, Jack clears his throat and twists his mouth as guilt floods through him. "I'm so sorry, Miss Fisher, for…well, for everything I said last night. I had no right to say the things I did and I can only hope you'll forgive me."

Astonishment widens her eyes. "Forgive you? Darling…you said you think I'm beautiful. Most men do. And I know you…care for me, and I hope you realise by now how much I care for you. As for loneliness – have you never wondered why I'm always happy to share a drink with you whenever you turn up on my doorstep?" She pauses and smiles gently at him. "My dear Jack. Do you really think you said anything last night that I didn't already know? Although…" and here, her cheeks colour a little: "It warmed my heart to hear you say such lovely things out loud."

Jack's fingers tighten slightly around Phryne's waist as he bows his head and lets her words wash over him. As Jack begins to understand that Phryne's sober revelations have revealed just as much about her feelings for him as his drunken admissions had revealed about his love for her…

Whether or not she realises it herself yet, Phryne has just shown Jack that she's in love with him too.

"Thank you." Jack's throat is tight with emotion but the overwhelming joy of knowing that _Phryne loves him_ causes a glorious smile to break across his face like the spring sun after the darkest winter.

)()(

An hour later, Jack is scrubbed clean and sedately driving Phryne home after a quick phone call to reassure her household that she's safe.

Phryne looks almost child-like in the passenger seat, her small form swamped by Jack's overcoat as she hides her indecently short dress from public sight.

The car trip passes in companionable silence and when Jack walks Phryne to her front door, she treats him to a smile that is all heart and no artifice.

"I'll see you after your shift at the garage? We need to plan for your foray into smuggling tomorrow night."

Jack nods, bracing himself for another day as 'Jack Rivers' – a task made easier by knowing he'll have Phryne by his side tomorrow night.

"Good day, Miss Fisher," he smiles and with a tip of his hat, he leaves feeling happier than he has in a long time.


End file.
